


Cheese On Your Apple Pie

by plaidsleep



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Cheesy, Fluff, M/M, POV Second Person, post-intimacy, rated for implied lewd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 03:58:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12573208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidsleep/pseuds/plaidsleep
Summary: Honestly? It doesn't taste that bad.





	Cheese On Your Apple Pie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shuri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuri/gifts).



"Y'know it doesn't uh... doesn't taste too bad."

The confession comes clear, if slow. Blood pounding in your ears doesn’t muffle Ryuji’s voice, and when words finally register and find meaning, you're tempted to smack him for it. Just once. Upside the head or at his hand, hovering over mouth, still slick, still wet. His tongue sweeps out to lick away a remaining stain. You refrain, and sigh through your teeth, too bashful with a fresh heat dusting your cheeks to dare bother. Through the haze of afterglow, sweat and curls both sticking to your brow, you settle for an  _ unsettled _ quip of brow, and he responds in sheepish nature, smiling that toothy grin so very much like a kid.

"Hey, don't look at me like  _ that _ ."

You continue to  _ look at him like that.  _ In fact, you deepen it.

"C'mon!" He frowns on the verge of a puppy-dog whine. "Really, man. I just gave you head, you could  _ at least _ give me a smile."

Gaze falters, both brows arching high. Crude curtness wins. You twist your head and hide that smile, twitching at the corner of your lip behind the comfort of quick hand, threatening to spill. It makes Ryuji grin all the wider. He even barks a laugh, that charming sound at the back of his throat resounding in your ear, “Ha! Your face right now is hilarious!” You both come out the victor in your own way.

He stands, twists, and flops in one lumbering motion onto the space beside you. The mattress groans, cot grunting along the floorboards underneath. You jostle a bit and stare, hand finally retreating to hover above your chest. He's not looking at you. His stare is caught by the ceiling, hands balancing him behind, and with mouth tucked in that thoughtful, bashful pout. " _ So—o _ ," he draws the note out, filling time, filling space. "It was okay, right? Wasn’t  _ terrible _ was it?"

Pride hinges on confirmation, and you see to it  that  it tips to the right side. You smile, you nod, and whatever tension had him strung breaks. He sighs into a fresh smile — wider than yours — and cheerful eyes meet with yours.

"You know I'm... I'm glad you like me enough to let me do this. And I'm — guess I'm glad I like you enough to do it, too. Weird, huh?" You bend your head.  _ Kinda _ . He keeps going, reassured. "I just... like you. It's hard to put into words but, I really like you. And I want to make you feel good, you know? Inside and out."

You blink. The silence lengthens. He flashes pink and stammers. "I mean, not in like a completely perverted way!” It’s almost cute how he bursts out and calms in short succession to a simmering fluster. “Jeez, that's not all that's on my mind, ya know?"

Another soft stare. You wait as if expecting. "Then what is on your mind?"

“Huh? Oh, uh.” He pauses, looks away, and comes back. "Promise you won't laugh when I tell you?"

You're tempted  to reply  with something witty, a return more crass to the only benefit of your own personal humor. You choose another, something more kind, “Promise,” and wait in a buzzing anticipation until Ryuji smiles, sheepish and pink and bright.

"You."

Heart stops — it skips — the answer catches up with you, faster than brain can process. It hits you, unforgiving, and your lips purse tight to stem the laughter crashing through and from your chest. You sputter and cheeks flair, blowing raspberries between stiff fingers. Deflating with harsh chuffs through your nose, you finally surface, not quite collected, but enough to manage, “That’s so cheesy.”

Ryuji laughs along, just as enthused. “I know, right?” He knew you’d laugh. It's corny, it's cliche. Something romantic like what protagonists from movies say. Cheesy. Yet memorable. You play it over again. Hair finds its way between your pointer and thumb. A habit started months, maybe years back. The excitement has faded away. Try as you might, there's just no finding your lost voice.

You take a moment. You take his hand. And now it’s your turn  to leave  him flustered and at a loss for word s. When you peak, you catch his eyes glued to where you join, a red tint coloring the edges of his cheeks. His brow is firm, his lips in a weak pout. Not angry, just shy. Brown eyes turn up, and your gazes are locked. 

The kiss is slow, it’s heart-stopping. Even time takes pause as you careen forward, drawn like a magnet, pulled as if on string. His lips aren’t soft but they’re welcoming, and warm beyond anything you can start to imagine or think. When heart starts its beat again, mouths part, and lungs freeze with that first testing lick. 

He’s on his back. And you’re on top. Fingers in short hair and palm against hot ear. His own are somewhere, those patches of heat pressed upon the small of your back and a bit higher up your spine. It takes effort to leave. You make it easier with trailing pecks along his jaw and cheek.

Ryuji squirms under your affection, hissing laughter through his teeth when yours graze the skin of his neck. He ruffles your hair and a lingering kiss presses and pops against your temple. You bury yourself in his neck and collar, arms strong around his chest. 

"I love you,” comes as naturally as the sigh that deflates you, as the second hug that preludes soft confession. Ryuji laughs again, restrained, a hiccuping sigh.

"Jeez,” he says. “And you call me cheesy."

A sound like chimes play a happy note in your ear, and you swear you see happiness fly from the boy laid beneath you when you peak out from the comfort of your den. Amid the kaleidoscopic map of heart falling in on itself ( skipping jumping halting deep within your theft-hardened chest ) you fall to thinking back. Hazy as they say memory can be, yours is a crystal clear view.

You recall what led you here, the events which set your path. One night remembered through a foggy glass. The rain on your first day. A gentle blond cascading over lovely shoulders, a shock of it against grayed-out sky.

Could one event trigger all this? That you followed an odd sound, that you did what was just . In  steps and trains and chains of bonds forged, beat by beat, the wings of a butterfly’s affect flutter. On and on. A power swells within your heart, and blood pumps to the forge of strengthened bonds. Chains rattle in your head, their sound so akin to those of your heart’s lonely cell. They anchor you, they bind you, and imprisonment doesn’t seem so bad.

It's cheesy. It's all cliche. But, really, you kind of like it that way.


End file.
